“Well, have a cigarette.”
“I don’t smoke.” Perry blew out his cheeks and shrugged. He replaced the bottle in the glove compartment, then sat back, staring into the darkness and the pelting rain.
“We have around three miles to go,” he said. “Man! Will I be glad to get home!”
Brown kept silent. He drove with skill and confidence, watching the road, following the twists and bends.
Perry was now able to look at him, but the light from the dashboard revealed little. He saw brown, big hands on the steering wheel, the outline of the Stetson hat, but nothing of the man’s face.
Curious to know more about this man, he asked, “Have you been long with the highway patrol?”
A long pause, then Brown said, “Long enough.”
“That’s a good answer. I’m always saying that about my job. I write film scripts.” Perry eased himself against the back of the seat. “You married?”
“No.”
“To have shifted this car the way you did, you must be a weightlifter in your spare time.” Brown said nothing.
The condition of the road was improving and Brown increased speed.
“Do you go to the movies? You might have seen one of my films,” Perry said. “Ever seen The Gun Duel? That was one of mine.”
“I don’t go to the movies.”
Man! Perry thought. This guy is a real square. He doesn’t drink, smoke or go to the movies. What the hell does he do? He asked the question, “So what do you do in your spare time except police work?”
“Stop flapping with your mouth!” There was a snarl in Brown’s voice. “I’m driving!”
“Okay... sorry,” Perry said. He lit a cigarette and resisted taking another drink.
They drove for the next twenty minutes in silence, then Perry said, “Take the turn to the right, and we’re there.”
When they finally reached the fishing lodge and Brown drove into the garage, Perry heaved a sigh of relief. He knew he couldn’t have made it, but, somehow, this man had coaxed the car through the mud with an expertise that baffled Perry. He was sure, if he had been driving, he would have been bogged down a number of times, but they were under shelter at last.
“That was great driving, Jim!” he said as they both got out of the car. “You certainly did a fine job.”
Brown moved to the entrance of the garage and peered out into the darkness and the pelting rain. Perry groped and found the light switch and turned on the light.
“Let’s dump our wet things here. No point in messing up my place,” he said, and stripped off his soaking trench coat. He dragged off his boots.
The man came away from the entrance of the garage and pulled off his mud-encrusted boots. Then the Stetson hat came off, then the yellow slicker.
In the light reflecting down on him, Perry could now see him clearly.
What he saw gave him a jolt of uneasiness. The man was about his own height, but his shoulders were broader. At first glance he looked like a primitive rock carving — long arms, a chunky body, long legs and the powerful and muscular build was awe-inspiring.
Then the face: ice cold blue eyes, a short, blunt nose, high cheekbones and thick lips as if fashioned in red putty. The hair was the color of straw and cut in a fringe across a low forehead, dirty and shoulder length.
Perry saw around this man’s thick waist was a revolver belt, and in the holster a gun butt showed.
A real character, Perry thought. Straight from the apes.
“Let’s get some comfort,” he said, wondering why a highway patrol officer should be wearing a dirty white sweatshirt and black jeans. He shrugged this thought off as he groped for his keys and unlocked the door leading straight into his living room. “Come on in, Jim.” He turned on the lights and led the way into the room.
“Maybe you’ll want to get out of those clothes. I can fix you up. Man! Is it good to get out of that goddam rain!”
Brown was staring around the big, comfortably furnished room. For some seconds the luxury of what he was seeing seemed to stun him.
Finally, he muttered, “You live pretty well.”
“It’s okay. How about a bath? I’m taking one, then I’ll organize a meal. I’ll find something for you to wear. I’ll show you your room.”
As he moved towards the stairs, he paused. “I was forgetting. You want to telephone. The phone’s over there.”
“It’ll wait,” Brown said. “I want to get out of these wet things.” Shrugging, Perry led the way up the stairs.
“Your room’s the second on the left,” he said. “I’ll find you something to wear.”
He entered the major bedroom and turned on the lights. He looked at the big double bed which he had hoped to have shared with Sheila, but in spite of his efforts to persuade her she had refused to come to the fishing lodge. He paused, for a long moment, thinking of her. What was she doing right now? He glanced at his watch. The time was well after midnight. Then grimacing, he went to his big closet, found a sweatshirt, underpants and a pair of jeans. These he carried down the short corridor and entered the second bedroom.
Brown was standing by the bed, staring around the room.
“Here you are. I think you can squeeze into them,” Perry said, tossing the clothes on the bed. “Now for a bath. See you in half an hour.”
“This is pretty fancy,” Brown said, still staring around the room.
“Glad you like it. The bathroom’s right there,” Perry said, longing to get out of his damp clothes and into a hot bath. He left the room and entered his bedroom. As he drew water in the bath, he wondered about the weather conditions. Was this rain going to cease? Stripping, he took his small transistor radio with him into the bathroom and put it on a shelf by the bath. He turned it on, then sank, with a sigh of pleasure, into the hot water.
He was in time to catch the weather forecast. Rain was expected to persist for the next twenty four hours, but would gradually die out, giving way to a spell of hot, humid weather.
Perry shrugged.
He knew he had plenty of food in the freezer. In a couple of days, with luck, he could start fishing and thinking. He grimaced, wondering if some idea would come to him. It was odd how ideas for a plot could develop in a hot bath. He thought of Silas S. Hart and what he wanted: sex, blood and action. There was time. After all, he had only just arrived. He was hungry. As he got out of the bath and reached for a towel, the impersonal voice of the radio announcer said, “We are interrupting this program for an urgent police message. All motorists travelling between Jacksonville and Miami are warned...” Perry snapped off the transistor. He was now no longer a motorist. He was home, dry and hungry. Let the other poor sods floundering in the rain listen to police warnings. So he didn’t hear the warning that a man, now called the Ax Killer, was at large and disguised as a highway patrol officer.
All Perry could think of right now was a thick, juicy steak. Hastily drying himself, he scrambled into a sweatshirt, jeans and loafers and ran down the stairs to the living room.
He found Brown moving around the room aimlessly. Perry paused in the doorway. Brown had taken a bath. His straw colored hair was clean and lay flat against his skull. He had squeezed himself into Perry’s clothes. The short sleeved sweatshirt was too small and revealed this man’s bulging muscles. Perry saw on this man’s left, thick forearm the tattoo of a striking cobra snake. Around his solid waist was the cartridge belt and gun.
Man! Perry thought. This guy is certainly a character!
“Hungry?” he asked, moving into the room. “I’m starving. How about a steak?”
“Not for me,” Brown said. “I guess I’ll take a kip, but you go ahead, buster.” Perry suddenly realized he was beginning to dislike this man. He now regretted offering him a bed, but what else could he have done? Maybe he should have driven him to the Sheriff’s office and have got rid of him.